


I'll Bring You Back Home

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Consensual Violence, M/M, Nelson's casual racism, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Swingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson realizes that HJ is feeling stifled by their relationship, so he suggests a swap.  Contains scenes of Nelson/Byron, HJ/Bill, and Nelson/HJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Bring You Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

“You're getting bored of me.” It's said too quietly to be an accusation, but laden with too much significance to be a mere observation. Nelson cleans himself off with a monogrammed towel that's always stashed discreetly under the bed, and stands to get dressed.

“That's not true.” It is, maybe a little, but Nelson is his, and that means his to protect from ugly truths as well.

“It is. I can tell when you're pulling your punches, dear.” Rolf watches as Nelson starts pulling on one of his ridiculous striped pajama sets. The blonde man inspects his face in the mirror, presses two fingers to his jawline. “Hardly even tender. I'm going to make a pot of coffee.”

Nelly certainly can be cold when he wants to be, a stark contrast to his pliant body and shameless begging just fifteen minutes ago. Rolf will admit to himself that perhaps he has been getting restless ever since he started staying at Nelson's place two months ago. Domesticity doesn't come naturally to him, never came naturally to his family. It's not that he cares for Nelly any less – he just feels a little trapped, suffocated by monogrammed towels and matching dish sets and lace-lined curtains.

He sighs and gets out of bed too, putting on a pair of loose pants. He knows Nelson well enough by now – has had enough little spats with him – to know that his lover is immensely proud, and will put on a brave face to hide his worries. Rolf wanders to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of brewing coffee. The room is bright and cheery, but Nelson is a picture of gloom, leaning of the counter, slumped on his elbows. 

Nelson hears him come in, turns sharply. “It's not ready yet,” he says quickly, like some deep rumination had been interrupted. “I was going to bring you some in a minute.”

“That's fine. We can drink it in here.” Rolf seats himself at the modest-sized table and scowls at the sunflower-patterned placemat in front of him. They stay like that, in glum silence, until the coffeepot finally gurgles out its readiness.

Nelson pours some of the bitter drink into two mugs (kitschy, with the silhouetted Manhattan skyline depicted on each) and joins him at the table. They both drink it black these days.

“Just tell me I'm right, okay?” Nelson says, his eyes flickering from the cup in his hands to Rolf, and back again. “It's not going to break my heart to learn you're a little bored. I know you were with a lot more guys before we were together.” Rolf nods gruffly. “And I... I really like having you here with me. It means a lot that we're, you know, exclusive. It's probably the best thing guys like us can have.” Rolf nods again, and wonders if he should say something, if he dares to interrupt Nelson's monologue.

“But hey,” Nelson continues, mostly addressing his mug, “we're both men with... healthy appetites. I don't blame you if you miss your lifestyle before I came around. Just tell me the truth.” He looks up, locks eyes with Rolf for the first time in several minutes. “Please.”

How can he put it so Nelson will understand? It's not Nelly, really it isn't. But it's not exactly that something's wrong with Rolf either. 

“You're right,” he concedes. To his credit, Nelson's gaze doesn't break, and his shoulders don't slump one little bit. “But only a little,” he hastily amends. “I'm not bored with _you_. I've just never” -- he waves his hand around, gesturing at the kitchen -- “done _this_ before. I'm not used to it.”

“I see,” Nelson says tersely. “So you feel closed in, is that it?”

“It's just been a big change for me is all. It's been a change for both of us, I'm sure you were with plenty of other men before me.”

Nelson shrugs. “Not so many. A couple of guys back in the Marine Corps, and then you came along and swept me off my feet, so to speak. Or knocked me off them, rather.” He takes a sip, then clears his throat. “But look, I've got this idea. You miss having a little variety, am I right?” Rolf nods, wondering where this is going. “So what if we try getting that variety from different people?”

Rolf isn't sure what Nelson is talking about. “See other people, you mean?” That's not what he wants by a long shot.

“No, no! Not like that. Just maybe... trade partners for a night.” Rolf eyes him suspiciously. “With Bill and Byron.” 

Impossible. That's the worst idea Rolf has heard since the last time Byron got drunk and started quoting Marx, and he tells Nelson so.

“Come now, it's not that bad,” Nelson says, miffed. “I was just thinking of them because it would be easy, discreet, no compromise to our identities. Sometimes a little unfamiliarity can make you appreciate what you have, you know. And I happen to know that they've been quarreling.”

Rolf gives it another thought. Nelly's reasoning is good, and he's unlikely to get permission to sleep with another man again anytime soon. “Fine,” he says. “But on one condition: I get Bill.”

Nelson actually has the gall to look disappointed. “Why do you get Bill?” 

Rolf can see what Nelson's getting at – Nelson wants the bigger man, probably figures that Bill is the dominant one of the couple. “It's a well-known fact that Byron hates me, and if you think I'd put my cock in that little...”

“Fine, fine,” Nelson says. “I'll bring it up next time I see them. I'm sure it'll be interesting, to say the least.”

~*~*~*~*~

As it turns out, Byron and Bill don't take too much convincing. Byron thinks it will be fun, and even Bill seems intrigued after a little persuasion. They set a date, and for the several days leading up to it, Nelson can't help but get stuck with the comical mental image of Byron's wings quivering in the throes of passion.

~*~*~*~*~

When it actually comes time to do this, Nelson isn't sure how to go about it. He and Byron are both stripped from the waist up, seated and kissing awkwardly on Byron's bed. The moth-obsessed man (there are specimens in glass boxes on the walls) isn't exactly small, but Nelson is used to his large, hulking lover, and the absence of that room-filling presence is disconcerting to him. 

Neither one of them has taken the lead yet, and that worries him too.

Byron breaks the kiss, panting slightly. Nelson's heart rate has barely picked up. “Mind if we take these off?” Byron says, starting to slip out of his pants. Nelson nods and does the same, slightly embarrassed that Byron is already half hard, and he isn't. 

Byron is flushed already, and he rests his hands on Nelson's thighs. “Bill and I take turns,” he purrs. “I prefer bottom, but it's up to you.”

Now Nelly flushes, for different reasons. “HJ and I don't really take turns. I'm afraid I'm not very good at seduction.” He'd never had to be any good at it before. Occasionally he'd initiate sex, but Rolf would usually take over before long. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Don't worry about it.” Byron smiles and gently leans against him, pressing him down onto the fluffy comforter. It's strange, to have the man who's usually a timid mess now tucked between his legs. Byron brushes his growing erection against Nelson, which sends a rush of warmth flowing to his own member. That's more like it. Maybe it'll be nice to have a gentle lover, with soft hands and an eager smile, for a change. 

Nelson hums in pleasure as Byron strokes him to hardness (the fingers are long and slender, but the nails are bitten down) and kisses along his jawline. His own hands trace along Byron's sides, learning the curves and angles of his body, marveling at how much power can be compacted into such a slight frame. 

He barely winces when Byron slides into him – what takes him by surprise is how Byron asks if he's okay.

“Fine,” he mutters, and grasps at Byron's hips, burying the other man inside him in the hopes that he'll get the hint and pick up the pace. But Byron continues in languid, even motions, apparently savoring every sensation that Nelson gives him. It's almost relaxing, to be had in this way. Nelson wonders if this is what normal people call making love. 

Of course, Nelson isn't one of those people. He pulls Byron flush against him again, interrupting the other man's slow rhythm and eliciting a gasp from his pink and parted lips. Nelson looks up at him, their eyes locking in an understanding. Worrying at his lower lip, Byron speeds up a bit; it's not the same as Rolf's unforgiving pounding, but it will do. Nelson rocks his hips upwards in time with his partner, and cries out softly, needfully. At this rate, Byron is going to finish long before he will. He wants to feel those ragged fingernails raking across his chest, or the slim hands become weapons against his face. 

“Hit me,” he breathes, but what he says is all but lost in Byron's ragged gasps.

“What?”

“Hit me,” Nelson repeats. Byron's eyes widen above him.

“Is that why you're always so banged up?” The Mothman has frozen, face fixed in confusion mixed with the dawn of comprehension. "I _knew_ it wasn't all from patrol--" 

Nelson hisses in exasperation. “ _Yes,_ Byron, and if you're going to fuck me, then you're going to hit me.” It sounds stupid, coming out of his mouth all at once like that, but that's what it boils down to.

Byron's mouth opens, shuts, and opens again. It would be funny if it wasn't so heinously uncomfortable. “B-but I don't want to hurt you, Nelly.”

He snorts in response. “Then you're with the wrong man, my dear. Go on, do it,” he challenges. “Pretend I've just said something rude about one of your Negro pals again.” He watches as Byron's eyes narrow, and shuts his own eyes in anticipation.

It's not a punch, just a slap, but it hits hard enough to sting considerably, and Nelson bucks up against Byron with a loud groan. “Harder.” Again, this time a backhand, timed with a thrust from the other man. “Perfect,” Nelson sighs in ecstasy, “that's good.”

Byron's voice, usually a thin tenor, has taken on a new quality, hard and metallic. “Say you're sorry for all those things you've said. Tell me you deserve to get hit.” Nelson cries out and works his hips again, but Byron actually pulls away. Nelson is caught in limbo between need and delight at the new game, and words start spilling out of his mouth – words that he doesn't necessarily believe, but is certainly willing to say.

“Yes, oh god, yes, I was wrong, I'm sorry, I deserve it. Punish me!”

“Gladly,” Byron says, and punches him, hard. While Nelson recovers from the solid blow to his cheekbone, keening and rocking with pleasure, Byron resumes his motions. “I'm close,” Byron gasps. Through his delirium, Nelson can feel the man's right hand closing around his cock, and the other fisting at his hair. When Byron suddenly floods his insides with warmth, it's enough to send him over the edge, back arched and toes curled.

Byron collapses next to him, allows Nelson to curl up beside him and rest his head on his shoulder. A few minutes pass as they wait for their breathing to slow.

“Thank you,” Nelson says, nuzzling into the softness of his neck and the roughness of his stubbled jaw. “For going with it. I know I'm not even close to conventional... not even for guys like us.”

“You really like that?” Nelson replies with a contented “mmm.” He can't see Byron smile, but he can almost hear it in his voice. “It was kind of fun.” He runs a hand through Nelson's hair, and Nelson thinks he might be happy to lie here a while and then give it a second go, show Byron a few more tricks. Then Byron says, “I don't suppose you actually meant that apology.”

Nelson raises his head, and sees that Byron is no longer smiling. “Um. No, not really.”

The other man scowls, sitting up and shoving him off. “You're such a pig, Nelly.”

Nelson can't help but grin. “Takes one to know one, comrade.”

~*~*~*~*~

It somehow hadn't seemed right to use Nelson's apartment for this (encounter? experiment?), and Rolf wasn't willing to give away even a shred of information about his personal life to anyone. He had arranged for Bill to meet him in a hotel room on 53rd Street – not a particularly upscale place, but simple and clean, and more than enough to serve their purposes. Rolf had changed into his Hooded Justice costume the second the door had clicked behind him – most of the costume, anyway. His hood and red pants are on, but he is bare-chested; now he flexes in front of the mirror, certain that Bill will find him more than adequate, especially compared to the scrawny lush he was currently fucking. He smirks at the thought of Nelson and Byron together right now – it can't be going well, unless Nelson has been hiding some fetish for anthropomorphized moths from him. 

He sits on the bed and waits, chuckling quietly to himself as he imagines them arguing about who gets to be on the bottom, imagines Nelson's dissatisfaction and how tomorrow night when they talk about this, he'll remind Nelly how damn good he has it. In the meantime, he'll give Bill a nice, thorough fuck and remind him how good he could have it.

There's a tentative knock at the door, as if the person on the other side isn't quite sure he's got the right room. Rolf straightens his hood as he takes three quick strides to the door and peers through the peephole. The figure on the other side is slightly blurred and distorted, but it's almost definitely Bill Brady. He undoes the deadbolt, and the chain, and opens the door, staying carefully behind it in case anyone else passes by.

“Well, hi, HJ,” Bill says as he steps inside. “Sorry I didn't bring flowers.” He flashes that big, apple-pie smile of his, which Rolf pointedly ignores, busying himself instead with making sure the door is secure. 

“Shall we get down to it, then?” he says, once he's sure that no one will be able to disturb them. 

Bill's smile only wavers for the smallest fraction of a second, before he responds. “Sure, if you just want to go ahead with it that's fine with me.” Bill approaches him, moves as if to touch him, so Rolf grabs the other man first. His hands grasp at Bill's shoulders, catching Bill by surprise.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Bill looks somewhat taken aback, but calmly wraps his hands around Rolf's wrists and removes them. “Sure. You can do the same.”

Rolf leers, tearing himself free. “I'll be giving the instructions— ”

“Oh no,” Bill interrupts. “Byron warned me about you.” 

“I'm sure he did,” Rolf mutters, crossing his arms, but Bill continues as if he hadn't heard.

“I'm not interested in getting knocked around. So we can either compromise, or I can go home.” Bill's tone is extremely reasonable, but it's his last point that makes Rolf's mind up for him. “And I don't think either of us wants to have to sit around twiddling our thumbs while our boyfriends are out having a good time, hmm?”

Five minutes later, Rolf has Bill underneath him, both still partially clothed but steadily moving away from that state. Rolf's red leggings chafe at him, even designed as they are to stretch. He grinds himself against Bill's pelvis, hard enough that Bill gasps audibly. He growls in approval, digging his fingers under the waistline of Bill's trousers to find angular bone, taut muscles, and the brush of soft hair against his knuckles. With steady but eager hands, he sets about removing the rest of Bill's clothing. The belt came unbuckled easily enough, but he struggled with a small button on the fly of the pants.

“Can't get the button?” Bill asks, as genially as if Rolf had been fitting him for a suit. “Here, let me.” He deftly does what Rolf's unwieldy hands cannot, and Rolf wants to move past the small complication as quickly as possible. He squeezes at Bill's hips while the other man kicks his pants off. Rolf likes what he sees, Bill's member thick and flushed; he wraps one hand around it, and uses the other to push Bill back down onto the bed.

Bill's eyes first flutter shut, then fly open, and then he's pushing back.

“This had better be good, Bank-Boy,” Rolf threatens. This whole idea is plain ill-conceived, and he hopes Nelly is having just as ridiculous a time too. That man deserves a lesson for coming up with such a stupid scheme.

Bill doesn't seem fazed. “I have an idea you might like. How's this for compromise? Byron and I... tie each other up, sometimes,” he reveals. “But you have to promise not to beat me up. Leave that for the crooks, okay?” He tugs at the ropes around Rolf's waist. “Do these come off?”

They do, and this is something Rolf's hands know how to do well. There is only the one length of rope, so he first binds Bill's hands with one end, then fastens the other to one of the rails of the headboard.

“You didn't promise,” Bill nags. He's looking the best Rolf has ever seen him, muscular arms pulled up above his head, body laid out wantonly for him. “Hello?”

“Very well,” Rolf agrees. He supposes he could never get away with it with Bill anyway, because it was bound to get back to Bill's little faggot boyfriend, and then he'd never have another moment's peace. “Enough talking, now.” He's sick of hearing anything that isn't a variation of _Yes, HJ, please!_

He lowers his leggings enough that his erection is freed (thank God, finally), and he pauses a moment to let Bill see him, see exactly what's coming. At this point, Nelly would lick his lips or moan appreciatively, or make some other appropriate gesture, but Bill's small intake of breath will do. There is a small bottle stashed under a pillow, and he feels around until he finds it, then quickly readies himself. He prepares to take Bill quickly; the sooner it's over, the sooner he can get out of here – but the way Bill shudders and bites his lip the instant Rolf prods against his entrance is something he hadn't expected.

“You want this, don't you?” Rolf hisses, pushing slightly. Only the head of his cock is inside, and he wants to make Bill beg for the rest of it. Bill nods, and lifts his hips futilely. “Talk. Tell me.”

“Please,” Bill whispers, his cheeks reddening. “More.”

“What?” 

“More!” Bill says, louder now. Oh, isn't this something else! Having the poster boy of the American heartland pleading to be fucked by him is almost laughable; feeling generous, he slides in another inch or two. Bill twists against his bonds, and Rolf presses his palms against the man's chest. Muscles move under his hands, hips buck under his. He catches an already hard nipple between two fingers and rolls the small nub between them until Bill gasps.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

“I want more of you.” Bill wraps his legs around Rolf, trying to pull him closer. “Don't hold out on me like this.”

Rolf smiles under his hood. He gives the nipple a hard pinch just as he thrusts all the way in, feeling hot skin against him. Bill's moan sends him pumping vigorously into the other man, wet and tight around him.

 _Thud. Thud._ “Ow.” _Thud._ “Hey! Can you move the pillow back there?”

Rolf stifles a sigh – Nelson never bellyaches like this – and positions a pillow between Bill's head and the headboard. He ignores Bill's thanks, and moves harder, and faster, and he can tell that he's pleasing Bill from the way he gasps as each thrust hits home. The other man comes first, coating his stomach with white. Rolf is getting close, but it's not enough yet. He runs his fingers through the fluid and takes a taste for himself, then gives the rest to his partner. Bill sucks his own juices from Rolf's fingers, and with one last groan, Rolf empties himself.

He lets an acceptable amount of time pass, maybe a minute or so, before untying Bill and replacing the ropes on his costume.

“Get dressed,” he says. “I want to get out of here.”

“I guess cuddling is out of the question, huh?” Bill shakes his shoulders and his hands, getting re-accustomed to moving them again.

“You guess correctly.” He waited impatiently as Bill took his time getting dressed. He couldn't leave the hotel room in costume, but he wasn't about to remove his hood around Bill either. 

It seemed like an eternity, but at long last Bill was on his merry way, and Rolf could change quickly and head home. To Nelson's place. Home.

~*~*~*~*~

Byron practically jumps on Bill the second he walks through the door, and after the wholly awkward experience he's just had, it's a welcome sight.

“Hey there, By,” he smiles, his heart warming the same way it did the first time they kissed. Byron's hair is still damp from the shower, and the clean smell of soap envelops him. “Mm, you smell good.”

“I was a little sweaty,” Byron admits. “Captain Masochist gave me a workout.”

Bill's eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Did he-- no, wait, give me a minute and then I want to hear all about it.” He ducks into the kitchen and prepares two mugs of cocoa; he can hear Byron humming to himself in the living room as he thumbs through a magazine. Padding into the cozy, carpeted room, he sets the drinks down on the coffee table and puts his arm around Byron, grinning. “Okay, let's hear it. What sorts of obscene things did Nelly make you do?”

“Heh. Well, it turns out I was right about him. He told me to hit him.”

Bill waits for more, then prompts him when none comes. “And?”

Byron laughs, shortly and nervously. “And... I did.”

“You didn't! What did _he_ do?”

Byron grabs his mug of cocoa, no milk. “It was so bizarre, he starting moaning like I was giving him head or something. It was kind of fun at the time, you know what a bastard Nelly can be. But now that I'm thinking about it, it just feels weird. How about you and Hooded Justice?”

“Well, I laid down the law with him, so to speak. I told him no violence or anything. But,” he continues, knowing Byron probably isn't going to like this, “I let him tie me up.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Byron looks like he might start throwing punches. “You know how fucked up HJ is; I'm surprised he didn't pummel you the second he tied the last knot! Jeez, Bill!”

“Hey. Relax, hon, okay? Nothing like that happened.” He strokes Byron's hair affectionately. “He wasn't exactly charming, but it was fine. However, I don't think he'd look as cute as you do in a pair of wings.” Byron smiles and closes his eyes, leaning into Bill's touch, and Bill snatches the mug from Byron's hand.

“That's mine!” Byron protests. “You've got your own right there!”

“Nope, it's mine now!” He holds it just out of Byron's reach, knowing that the other man won't risk any sudden movements lest it spill. “You want this, don't you?”

“Yes! So give it back!”

Bill scoots over to the other end of the couch, with his back to the armrest, and holds the mug between his outstretched legs. “So come and get it. Tell me how much you want it.” As Byron gives him a cheeky smile and crawls forward, Bill thinks that at least this thing wasn't a total waste.

~*~*~*~*~

The first thing that Rolf notices when he walks into the apartment is the bruise developing on Nelson's cheek.

“Oh, you're home! I've just—”

Rolf cuts Nelson off, grabbing him roughly by the jaw and pressing his thumb into the slightly discolored flesh. “What's this?”

Nelson inhales sharply, tilting his head upwards. “Mothman has a pretty good right hook.” 

“Hmph.” He lets go and heads to the bedroom to put his bag away, Nelson trailing behind him. Moth-boy actually hit Nelly? _His_ Nelly? “I ought to punch holes in his wings for that,” he mutters, just loud enough that Nelson can hear it – he needs to know how unacceptable that is. “Or his face. Both.”

“Don't worry, dear, he won't be replacing you any time soon,” Nelson says, removing his checkered bathrobe to reveal an equally gaudy pajama set (really, where does he even find these things?) “He took too much persuasion. Do you want to go to bed? I'm pretty tired.”

Rolf nods, waiting for Nelson to ask how his time with Bill went, and he doesn't have to wait long. “Busybody,” he says stonily, and only Nelson would know that he's teasing him.

“Fair's fair, Rolf,” Nelson says, approaching him and helping him unbutton his shirt.

“He was annoying,” Rolf tells him truthfully. “He talked too much, complained too much. You shouldn't let someone tie you up if you're going to whine about being uncomfortable.”

Nelson looks fairly surprised. “He let you do that? I guess their sex life is more interesting than I thought. Then again,” he says, taking Rolf's shirt and tossing it into a laundry basket, “There had to be some reason for those stupid straps Byron wears.”

“So it would seem.” Rolf tosses his pants and socks into the basket too, and climbs into bed, Nelson joining him soon after. The blond man immediately presses up next to him, and drags his fingers lazily through the hair on Rolf's chest. 

“Here's my big man,” Nelson murmurs contentedly. He runs his hand over Rolf's chest and shoulders, the sensation wholly pleasing after tonight's complications. “I missed all of this.”

It draws a smile to Rolf's lips, something Nelson alone witnesses. “Good.” He brings his free right hand around to brush up against Nelson's lips, and a soft tongue slips out to lap at him. Nelson closes his mouth around one finger and sucks gently, running his tongue along it. He must hear Rolf's breathing quicken, or maybe he feels Rolf's heart start to pick up under the skin against which his ear is pressed, because he knows exactly what to do.

Nelson's hands move along Rolf's stomach in tandem with the wet tongue that laves a path downwards, where his cock is twitching and half-hard. He murmurs something wordless, mouthing at the thin fabric of Rolf's underwear, and the heat of his breath mingles with the heat against his face. Nelson draws eager fingers underneath the fabric and helps Rolf remove the garment. 

Rolf grabs Nelson by the hair and pushes his face down into his groin, and the blond man whimpers like a good boy when he feels hot skin and coarse hair, when he smells sweat and semen and traces of another man's body there. Nelson's tongue drags along the skin of his scrotum, and Rolf almost gasps; he turns it into something more guttural and increases the force in his arm. Obligingly, Nelson sucks at him there, one hand applying soft pressure to his balls. Rolf forgets himself for a minute or two, his grip loosening because Nelson is so goddamn _good_ at this – the way he uses his lips, which Rolf imagines reddened and swollen already, the way his tongue darts downward once or twice between Rolf's buttocks. It's when Nelson nuzzles against Rolf's cock that he comes back to himself, and he drags Nelson's cheek along his length, leaving a thin streak of precome behind.

Nelson licks at his cock like he's savoring its taste before wrapping his lips around it. Rolf's hand is still entangled in his hair, and he moves Nelson's head up and down as it pleases him (it's not exactly necessary, Nelson is enthusiastic enough on his own, but they both enjoy it). He can see the sculpted muscles of his partner's shoulders moving and stretching slightly as his head bobs. Through the waves of pleasure, something else catches his eye: the bruise on Nelson's face. He reaches slightly farther down to press his fingers firmly against the tender flesh, and Nelson opens his mouth wider to moan loudly around Rolf's erection. Rolf's hips buck up of their own accord, but Nelson doesn't cough or splutter – he takes it, he wants it, and his eyes, wide and blue, raise to meet Rolf's own. Rolf doesn't want to look away from that, but he can't help it; he has to squeeze his eyes shut and let the overwhelming sensation roll over him, feel Nelson take every last drop from him. 

A few moments later, when Nelson curls up beside him again, still stroking at his chest as if nothing ever happened (though his rumpled hair and red lips betray it), Rolf almost says he's sorry for his shortcomings at domestic life, for being terrible at relationships, for staining Nelson's collar with sweat. Except he's not really sorry about the last thing, and Nelson smiles softly when Rolf encloses him in a burly embrace and grazes his lips along his golden hairline; apologies have no place in this peaceful moment, and the circumstances behind them are rendered irrelevant.


End file.
